A Christmas Fugue
by Feonyx
Summary: Okay, so it's a year late. STAVE IV: The final Spirit comes to Kraden, his forbidding guide to a terrible future that can only be altered by immediate redemption... so just how much can an old Alchemist change?
1. Babi's Ghost

**A CHRISTMAS FUGUE**

**[Author's Notes]** Yes, the title's another Djinni pun.  Go read **Unleash the Fury of the Djinn** for more.  It won't take long, but in case you're one of those impatient types, this is heavily based on Charles Dickens' _A Christmas Carol_, only in the Golden Sun world and heavily altered to compensate for this not being the 1800s any more.

For my other Golden Sun Christmas story, check out **Twelve Lords of Venus A-Leaping**, which has an awkward title but really is pretty good.

A quick note: this is _not_ a parody.  I'm slightly too sane for that, though I'm told I make up for it with craziness.  You still won't find insanity in here, beyond Kraden's… never mind.  Oh, and don't forget that it's better to review than to give, or something like that.

**STAVE I: BABI'S GHOST**

                Babi was dead, to begin with.  Not at lot of people were broken up about this, to tell the truth, and were quite happy to accept it, except for those who insisted that "the evil (insert amazing variety of colourful terms here) is never going to die, that (even further selection of monikers)".

                Dead as a doornail, and while one might think that doors are fairly active, being opened and shut several times a day on average, that is the usual term.  Anyway, he was dead at last, and this you must remember, or else nothing else that follows shall seem wondrous.  Except possibly for the Psynergy, but we've all seen that before, so it doesn't really count.

                Kraden certainly knew that Babi was dead, the two had been nearly partners (though no one argued with the ruler of Tolbi more than once, and usually not for long before they started to gurgle in fright) in unlocking the secrets of Alchemy for many years, until the location of Sol Sanctum was discovered and Kraden was sent to investigate.    
                A few uneventful years had passed, followed by the most eventful year in Weyard's history, and during that time, Kraden learned that Babi was dead.  With him gone, the responsibility to study Alchemy fell entirely upon Kraden, and he had been the only one doing so for some years now.  

                O!  But a tight-fisted hand at the Psy Crystal was Kraden!  …Have you ever actually heard anyone say 'O!' in normal conversation?  It's not exactly…  Never mind.  He was, anyway.  A crazed, accidentally-destructive, obsessed, paranoid, vainly ambitious old sinner!  

                …Well, okay, not so much with the actual _sinning_.  You'll see.

                And so it was that once upon a time, on Christmas Eve, of all the days of the year, though how the actual holiday of Christmas might have evolved on Weyard is a question that not even an Alchemist would dare to try to guess at, that Kraden sat in his workshop, trying to mix together a natural caustic alkali with a synthesized powerful acid and make a few observations before running for cover.

                There was only one other person in the workshop, his only reliable assistant, Isaac.  It might surprise some that a Dragonslayer who had saved the world at least once would choose to spend any time afterwards in a place so small and cut-off (if occasionally exciting, especially with experiments such as this), but Isaac insisted he was ready for a few years' rest before trying to save anything else, and this seemed like a worthwhile place to work in the meantime.

                It was cold in the workshop, a bitter, savage cold that seeped in between boards and absorbed metal until it felt like Moloch had eaten Kraden's house.  Kraden insisted that any fire, the merest spark, would not only upset the balance of Mars Psynergy in the area but potentially cause a massive chain reaction explosion that could break the planet in half like a biscuit in the claw of a King Scorpion.

                Alchemy was Kraden's only love now.  He was nothing like the person he had been so many years ago.  In the days of the Lighthouse quest, some insisted he had been rather absent-minded but still benevolent.  And some were willing to believe that this might be true, but the years with all of Alchemy weighing on him had destroyed that Kraden.

                "Merry Christmas, Kraden!" and after the explosion had settled down into a desk covered in broken glass and some sort of foaming substance, Kraden looked up from the floor and saw that Garet had somehow managed to sneak in without anyone noticing.  "You too, Isaac," he added.

                "I wouldn't count on it," said Isaac wryly, tilting his head meaningfully toward Kraden, who was the same colour as a Mars Djinni.

                "YOU-" he began, but then got control back, and shoved the rage back down to be with the rest of its kind.  He had quite a colony of fury buried in his soul.  "Bah!" Kraden snapped at last, waving an arm dismissively as he stood again.  "Humbug!"

                "…Humbug?" Garet echoed, but Isaac just shrugged.  "Were you working on some kind of mechanical insect?"

                "Don't be an idiot," Kraden retorted.  "Merry Christmas indeed."

                "Christmas a humbug?!" Garet exclaimed, catching on.  "You can't mean that.  Whatever a humbug is.  I mean, it's obviously not anything good."

                "What reason do you have to be merry?  You're ignorant enough," said the old man, looking for his combination mop and broom, a tool he used more often than one might expect.

                "What reason do you have to be a spark-mouthed crab?  You're smart enough.  Though apparently not enough to get the whole 'spirit of Christmas' idea inside your head," Garet shot back.

                "Spirit of Christmas!  What good has that ever done?  What is this season but a time to reflect on a year of wasted time, fruitless searching, and rare materials that were blown up by rampaging fools?"

                "You can call me whatever you like, Kraden, Jenna's desensitized me to it.  Besides, I know she and Isaac and all the rest of you have never really meant it.  Except maybe when I kicked that sign in the Altin mines," he added.

                "A season to waste time with gift-giving and eating and drinking without anything to show for it, not a single thing learned in the world and no closer to wisdom or discovery!" Kraden went on, now carrying off a bag that shook occasionally as reactants that hadn't yet, did.  "If I had my way, every fool who went around spouting 'Merry Christmas' would be encased in fruitcake and thrown into the heart of Mount Aleph with a wreath around his neck!"

                "Probably good that you don't, then," Isaac muttered, trying to make notes on the explosion in one of Kraden's dozens of books.  He was pulled away a moment later, though, by a knock at the door, and left the room, only to come back very quickly with a couple of people dressed in the closest Kalay had ever got to understanding 'cold weather clothing'.

                "This is the only Alchemy shop in Angara, am I correct?" asked one of them.

                "Unfortunately, yes," said Kraden.

                "Excuse me, have I the pleasure of addressing a Mr Babi?" he went on.

                "Lord Babi of Tolbi has been dead for several years now."

                "My apologies.  Mr Kraden, then?"

                "You're talking to him," Isaac agreed, "but the pleasure isn't likely to last long."

                "I am the alchemist Kraden," Kraden agreed, if somewhat reluctantly.  Kalayans tended to be good suppliers for the many materials he needed for his experiments, but he didn't trust them coming into his workshop, unless they tried to ask for something back.

                "At this time of year, it is more than usually desirable that we make some provision-"

                "Get to the point!" snapped Kraden, who hated being kept from his research.

                "The city of Champa is recovering, but they have had a difficult year, and now face a winter that is completely without mercy.  So some of Lord Hammet's people have travelled to other, better-supplied towns-" said the other.

                "This isn't the point either," said Kraden, no longer snappish, but with a fresh round of warning.

                The first Kalayan seemed to understand what kind of person he was dealing with.  "We have supplied you with a considerable quantity of gold over the past few years, gold that you would seem to have done little with, and it could be put to considerable use buying those things that Champa lacks."

                "Gold!  Gold!  You want my _gold_?  I knew it!  I am an Alchemist, sir, and it is necessary that I study that gold to further my research.  If the Champans want help, they need not pick my pockets.  Don't give anything away-"

                "That's true enough," said Garet to the Kalayans.

                "And I ask for nothing myself."

                "That's about as true as saying I'm fond of swimming," Garet went on.

                "Besides, Alhafra is near enough by, and quite a prosperous city, I believe."

                "_Alhafra?" said the second Kalayan, in the same sort of tone that most people would say 'fatal', 'dragons', or indeed 'Kraden?'  "Some would be killed outright, I am sure, some could not make the journey, and most would rather die anyway!"_

                "Then let them get on with it, and perhaps their supplies will suffice for the decreased population," said Kraden.

                "You can't be serious, Kraden," said Garet.

                "Stop saying that, boy.  I know what is best for the world, and if everyone would just get out, then I would get back to doing it!"

                The Kalayans left without another word to Kraden, though he suspected they had a word with Garet in the anteroom before leaving.  Probably arranging for him to send something a back with them.

                "Honestly, Kraden, I don't see how you can ignore other people like that," said Garet when he came back.  "Especially at Christmastime."

                "Christmastime?!  What good has it ever done you, anyway?" the grizzled Alchemist demanded.

                "If you don't care, I'm not going to waste any time telling you the details.  But I promise you that they do have purpose, and meaning, and at least as much value as your studies in this frigid cottage, and if you don't mind, I think I hear Jenna and a treeful of mistletoe calling-"

                "Mistletoe grows on bushes," Isaac added, helpfully, with the dreamlike expression he got on his face whenever he thought of a particular Mercury Adept.  "I should know.  I've been carpeting the ceiling with it."

                "-so I'll invite you to dinner tomorrow with myself and Jenna-"

                "Bah!"

                "-and once I've failed at that like we all knew I would, I'll wish you a merry Christmas again, possibly just because it annoys you, possibly not, you'll never know, and be gone."

                "At last," Kraden agreed.

                "Merry Christmas, Garet."

                "You too, Isaac," said the Mars Adept, and strode out the door again.

                "He gets duller every year," Kraden grumbled.

                "Why don't you join them for dinner, anyway?  Maybe someone there could learn something," said Isaac, very carefully not saying who he hoped might gain a glimmer of understanding.

                "Why don't you get back to work?" Kraden countered.

                "Because this was our last experiment for the day.  This is the part when I go home to my family because you've run out of deadly materials to mix into lethal materials and then set on fire."

                "Oh, very well.  Be here early tomorrow, I want to get started on deconstructing those ores from Air's Rock," said Kraden.

                "Tomorrow's Christmas," Isaac protested, but in a voice that said he had seen this coming.

                "Only an hour early, then," Kraden allowed.

                "Most people get the whole day off," Isaac pointed out.

                "Most people aren't studying Alchemy for the good of the entire world."

                Isaac tried "The shipment probably won't even _get_ here.  No one works on Christmas."

                "Oh, all _right!  The whole day, and the day after we'll go out and _find_ that Osenian caravan if it isn't here before sunrise!" Kraden snarled, abut didn't seem to get any reaction out of Isaac, who simply accepted his victory, packed up, and left, thinking clearly enough not to wish Kraden a merry Christmas._

                Outside, Isaac dashed around the workshop to the place in a cluster of trees where Picard had left a supply of Supercool shards the last time he was in Vale.  They were for quick escapes, and this was definitely a good time to use one.

                Vale was dark now, but only in reality- and even then, only just.  Light poured from windows, illuminating long patches of snow from dark blue to sparkling gold.  And if you were anyone but Kraden, you could feel the warmth of the village, too, the warmth of joy and celebration in the face of midwinter.

                Isaac stood on the massive shard and rode it down Vale's slopes.  The ground was uneven, sometimes almost flat, sometimes the kind of sheer drop that made Isaac feel like he had reached Gaia Falls (or possibly been hit by Valukar's hammer, a sensation that could only be forgotten in the burst of pain from the _next_ hit).

                Kraden, on the other hand, made notes by candlelight for another hour before dousing the candles, locking every door twice, and marching out into the dark evening.  He used to live in his cottage, but had since then turned it into a full alchemy shop, and spent what little time he lived outside it in a small house inside the restored village of Vale.

                The cold didn't bite at Kraden, his own being was so cold it made wind shiver and snow reach for blankets, which is, if I may say so myself, quite a good allegory.  Kraden marched unstoppably through the shadows, not flinching from deepest darkness in the slightest.

                This was partly because darkness was as much a part of Alchemy as light, but also partly because Kraden, who had not even thought of Babi for a very long time, had now had his mind filled with memories of his old teacher by those two Kalayans, who had seemed to think that the lord of Tolbi had retired to Vale.  Fools.

                He came upon his house –certainly not a home, no one who was remotely like Kraden could possibly turn a wooden box with a roof into a home, though 'den', 'lair', and 'keep' were certainly in the running.  It was unadorned for the season, of course, or anything else.  The windows were shuttered, though, to keep out prying eyes and intruders, and the door was a sturdy one.

                It was nearly soundproof, and so there was a knocker on the front in case someone wished to drop off a package or, if they were eight years old, prove to their friends how brave they were before fleeing into the snow like a hare coming upon a wolf polishing its championship sprinting trophies.

                As Kraden strode to the door, a strange feeling seemed to settle over him like the fine snow falling all around.  He looked about, wondering if he had spotted a stranger lurking nearby without realising it, but seeing the surrounding area clear, he shook his head and muttered "Humbug."  A better-read person would already have seen what was coming, but Kraden only ever read old tomes anyway, and didn't know the universal significance of that word, especially more than once a day.

                When he turned back the knocker was different.  Its rounded top had bulged out, the screws had shaped themselves sockets to fit in, and the swinging handle had become a bearded jaw.  The face of Babi, ruler of Tolbi and Kraden's mentor, was in the middle of his door.

                "_Kraden," it howled, and then it was just a knocker again._

                The old man would have felt better for sparks or the warping of the metal, but it was just a knocker.  No Psynergy worked faster than the eye could see.  It had only been his imagination, giving shape to shadows and a voice to the wind.

                "Bah," he grumbled, and went in.

                His evening continued normally, and he was growing in certainly that Babi's face had only been in his mind, a vast well of memories unblocked by those foolish Kalayans.  He sat in his bedroom, in a large chair by the fire, reading a Lemurian tome on the vital importance of water in Alchemy.

                A faint ringing in his ears was dismissed as the mere effects of old age at first, a problem that he intended to solve one day through the power of the Stone of Sages.  But when it grew and became more insistent, Kraden noticed that one by one, every bell in the house was starting to ring of its own accord.  

                The bells rigged to tell him if the fire was going out, if the door wasn't double-locked, if the temperature dropped below forty degrees, if… if there was someone else in the house.  (That last one had taken an exceptionally long time to create, but it's amazing what enough magnets, research on the electromagnetic radiation of brainwaves, and an incredibly strong case of bloody-mindedness could do.)

                Before he could wonder who could have snuck inside the house (what they wanted was no question, Kraden _was_ the world's only Alchemist, _and_ he could speak in Capitals when necessary) a new sound began, and the ringing stopped.  Instead there was the dull thump of chains dragging across his wooden floors, up the stairs and to the door- and _through_ the door, though we all knew that would happen anyway.

                And instantly he recognised the face of Babi.  Well, it was a shock to _him_.

                He was transparent, as is considered stylish among ghosts, with ragged, pale clothes and chains laden around his shoulders and keeping his motions restricted.  His hair, which had been lonely enough in life, was longer now, and unkempt, something the Lord of Tolbi would never have accepted before.

                "What do you want with me?!" Kraden demanded, covering his fear with a burst of rage.

                "Much!" the spectre replied, and though it was in a voice no human should have had, it was unquestionably Babi's, if drained the life it once had.

                "Who are you?" Kraden asked anyway, almost hopefully, if the old man could hope.

                "No one."

                "Oh, very well- who _were you?"_

                "Hah!  Yes, that's the right one.  In life I was Babi, ruler of Tolbi, and that much you must have already guessed."

                "A scientist must make a proper test before believing anything."

                "You believe my words, then, when I say who I was?  You make no provisions for something so simple as a lie?" asked the shade.

                "I doubt your very existence, but I wanted to know if I was right in guessing who my mind was conjuring up.  I saw you on the doorknocker, too," said Kraden, dismissively.

                "That was rather a good one, wasn't it?" asked Babi.

                "Begone!  I thought you up, I can think you away.  You're not real, you're simply… simply a hallucination, perhaps brought on by stomach illness.  Yes, a bit of cheese-"

                "Oh, can we please not go through the whole blasted 'more of gravy than of grave about you' bit?  I've heard all about it from the other ghosts, honestly, _everyone_ seems to think it up," said Babi, and for a second Kraden was certain he was listening to his old teacher berating him for blowing up a small but significant percentage of palace.

                "…Others?" asked Kraden, who had lost little in curiosity over the years.

                "Yes, yes, others, others who lack understanding of the world, the spirit, and the heart.  I was one for my entire life, and in these days… listen to me very closely, you whippersnapper, and don't touch that notebook, I see you thinking about it."

                "A real ghost, though, I've never-"

                "_Kraden__!"  When he had the old man's attention, the shade that had been Babi went on.  "It is required of every man, and woman, and all other peoples of every world, that the spirit within them travel abroad among their fellow men, travel far and wide, and if that spirit goes forth not in life, then it is condemned to do so in death, to wander through the world and witness what it cannot share, but might have shared, and turned to happiness!"_

                "But I have!" Kraden protested.  "The quest, with Felix and Isaac and the Lighthouses-"

                "That's the trouble with you live people these days, you save one world and think that you're owed everything.  You were a good student, Kraden, but the one time -other than the unit on combustibility gradiants- that your life depends on it, you seem intent on failing.  You must _continue_, Kraden, and you must do _good_.  There is no rest, not until the very end.  _That_ is what you ignore at every turn."

                "Alchemy-"

                "Never again!" shrieked the ghost.  "Never speak that word in my presence again, Kraden, it doomed me.  See you not this chain?"  Kraden looked closer, and saw that it was composed entirely of books and flasks and the many tools he used in his workshop, forged from iron and chained together, weighing Babi's ghost down, draining him of what spiritual strength he had as he marched ever onward to see others, to see life.

                "Your work in Alchemy made it?  But such a noble goal-"

                "For what purpose?  Even if I had succeeded, Kraden, if I had created a Stone of Sages, that would have been a minor feat indeed compared to the good I could have done in my life with all the rest of my wealth and power, and the long years the Lemurian water gave me."

                "This seems unlikely-"

                "Yours was not so short, Kraden, when you left Tolbi, but your time with the heroes of Vale did not shorten it, and you have laboured hard on it these last years.  Nothing is erased, Kraden, remember that, but at the end of your life, the good and the evil shall be weighed."  Wearily, Babi lifted one of the rusty books.  "And iron weighs a lot."

                Kraden was trembling now, hardly noticing that the fire had gone out, that he was seeing now only by the light of the ethereal shape.  He found that he believed Babi's ghost, that it was true in a way he could never prove… and that such a terrible fate did await him.  "Mercy, please, Babi, speak comfort to me."

                "Not tonight, you grizzled troll.  I came here only to tell you that you have a chance to escape this fate.  And I do not enjoy the idea of spending eternity in chains with one such as you howling nearby."

                "Oh, thank you, Lord Babi," said Kraden, shaking in relief now.

                "Thank with less speed, Kraden.  You are to be visited by three spirits."

                "One at a time?  And would their schedules allow for a few simple tests-"  Babi howl yet again, and with a wave of his arm, chains wrapped around Kraden, binding him from eye to ankles.  With his old student silenced, Babi went on.

                "You shall follow them, and listen, Kraden, and see what they have to teach you.  The first shall come tonight, when the bell tolls midnight, and you shall have this _one chance to save Middle-ea… save yourself.  Look to see me no more, and remember what has passed between us."_

                The chains withdrew, which disappointed Kraden, because he was sure that one of the iron covers had said _The Secrets of Unlocking Alchemy That Would Really Have Saved You Time In Your Studies If You Hadn't Been Such A Snappish Old Bear So We Decided Not To Let You Learn Them_.

                As Kraden watched, Babi's chains formed into endless circles that spun and rose around him like the light rings around an Adept using Psynergy, and then he was gone.  On pure instinct, Kraden glanced at the clock near his bed, which kept time surprisingly well for something that was originally supposed to be a compass.

                "Bah, humbug," said Kraden.  "Midnight?  It's midnight now.  Where are you, then, O spirit?" asked Kraden, proving that it _was possible to use, just not common.  And the room erupted into brilliant white light._


	2. The First of the Three Spirits

**A CHRISTMAS FUGUE**

**STAVE II: THE FIRST OF THE THREE SPIRITS**

                The light did not fade, but it did recede, until Kraden could see its source.  It was like a man, but seemed insistent on not choosing a particular age to fall into.  Its long white hair tumbled like an ambling waterfall from a face of astonishing youth, yet its arms and legs had the size and strength of a man at the height of his physique.

                "Who… who are you?" Kraden demanded.

                The Spirit seemed bemused by this question, and rather than try to answer, an unseen wind whirled its long hair about its face.  When the ivory strands fell back again, the face was familiar indeed, as well as providing the OBHL all the more reason to enjoy this particular stave.

                "I am the Ghost of Christmas Past," said a man who looked precisely like Picard.  "And I have come back to you at the turn of the tide… no, wait… I have come back to guide you through your first journey."

                "You're no ghost.  You're that Piers fellow," said Kraden, frowning.

                "He prefers Picard, and I am not he.  I took his features so that you would stop trying to figure out who I might be, because there is no answer to that question, and it doesn't matter anyway," said the Spirit, matter-of-factly.

                "Bah!  You're a Lemurian, no one else would look so young and old at the same time," Kraden argued.

                "Though I enjoy the irony, you remain wrong.  Can we get on with things?  There is better company on Christmas Eve than a grumpy unseasonal alchemist."

                "You sound like him, too.  And it's Alchemist.  Capitalized," Kraden corrected him.

                "Capital.  Shall we go?"  The Spirit who was so eerily like Picard drew a holly branch from the dark silver belt around his white-robed waist and moved to the door.

                "You are the Spirit, then, whose coming was foretold to me?" asked Kraden, starting to believe it.

                "Why does everyone insist on going the long way?" the Spirit grumbled.  "Yes, I am, the Ghost of Christmas Past, no, not long past, your past, I am here for your welfare, and if you insist that a full night's sleep would be better for your welfare, try 'your redemption'.  _Now_ shall we get started?"

                "Where are we going, then?" asked Kraden.  "I hope not anywhere in the village outside.  It's quite cold, and while my slippers are well-insulated with a polymer I invented, it really is-"

                "Take heed!  We go not to any such simple place as the outside of your house, Kraden.  We go to your _past."  And the Spirit reached out with one hand, touched him on the chest, and the Spirit's light grew until the rest of the room seemed to be nothing but shadow in comparison.  When it returned, it was not his bedroom, but the grounds of a large building, with a carpet of snow steadily being trampled by running and shouting children._

                "This… this is Tolbi!  Babi's palace, where I first learned about Alchemy!  So many memories… can we go to the library?  There are so many books I never read-"

                "We are here for a different purpose, Kraden.  Do you recognise any of these children?"

                "Of course, of course!  The students from Babi's academy.  There's… there's Alejan and Kirck and... and Iodem, that little rascal who was always setting my toads free in the Lucky Fountain…"

                "What is that on your cheek?"  Kraden mumbled a response.  "Sorry?"

                "A melted snowflake!" he snapped, smothering his wistful smile with annoyance.

                "Of course.  And where would they all be going at a time like this?"

                "Home, of course, most of them didn't come from Tolbi.  They're going home for… for Christmas," said Kraden.  He was bright enough to realise that he was supposed to be learning something from this, or be told something that they would teach him from later.  Well, no Spirit was going to manipulate his emotions, no matter what-

                A snowball interrupted his thoughts, striking the back of his head like a well-packed lightning bolt.  Kraden whirled about as fragments rained around him, then reached out on impulse and watched as Alejan ran straight through his hand.  "I thought as much.  This is only memory."  He turned on the Spirit, who was looking at the sky, waving his holly branch somewhat aimlessly and whistling something.  Kraden would probably not have felt any better to know it was a Lemurian dancing tune.

                "Hmm?" asked the Spirit, noticing Kraden's accusing stare.  "Ready to go inside?"

                "…What for?" he asked, suddenly derailed by the change of subject.

                "There is one child who isn't going anywhere.  One who is remaining at the school over the holidays.  Alone, the way he likes it.  And only too happy for the quiet studying time."

                "Oh.  …Yes, there is, isn't there?"  He looked back at the receding children, approximating their ages.  "I'm working on my Psy-Crystal locator, aren't I?"

                A yellow flash illuminated one of the windows at the very ground level, suggesting something had just happened with great enthusiasm in the basement.  "I think you just tried adding Laughing Mushroom to the mix," the not-quite-Picard agreed.

                "It's Healing Mushroom.  I should go tell… but I can't, can I?"

                "No.  But we'll go in anyway.  Come along," said the Spirit.  Kraden looked back at the children one last time, and might have murmured something exceptionally sentimental if he hadn't been struck by another snowball that time.

                "Hah!" Kraden shouted, spinning and throwing back in the same direction.  He marched over to the disturbed snowbank and triumphantly withdrew a disturbed Djinni.  Well, yes, I know.  Very well, a _more disturbed Djinni.  "I thought you might be somewhere around here.  Always mucking about in things, aren't you?"_

                "Arr, we be multi-purpose elementals," said the Mercury Djinni, and none of them spoke like that except Hail, who was convinced that pirating was still a surviving and noble tradition.

                "Get out of my past, you blue crab-frog, or I'll grind you through my Psynalyser like I asked to last month!" Kraden growled.

                "The Djinni is here with me," said the Spirit.  "And you may not harm her."

                "I suppose I should have seen that coming.  Get on with it, then!"  The Spirit simply nodded in deference and led Kraden through the doors of the palace, but let Kraden take the lead once they were inside.  By memory and instinct he marched through the halls, down stairs and around twisty corridors until they reached a place not unlike a much grander version of his workshop in Vale, obviously meant for a much larger number of people.

                But there was only one there, a boy of perhaps twelve years.  His brown hair, lighter than dark but darker than light, was streaked with soot, as was the rest of him.  He didn't wear glasses, but something about the shape of his features was unmistakeably Kraden.  He seemed to be sweeping something up.

                "Kraden?" called a voice, and there was Babi, alive and rather younger-looking.  "You're still here?  All of your classmates have left."

                "I have nowhere to go, nowhere I'd rather be, and you wouldn't believe the reaction I just got from a Laughing Mushroom when I added it to my-"

                "Glad to hear it!" said Babi firmly, not waiting for Kraden to finish.  "It's very heartening to see I have instilled a thirst for wisdom in even one of my students.  You, Kraden, show great promise, and your decision to remain in the palace throughout Christmas is a sign that my hopes for you are not unfounded."

                "Well, I _was thinking of going to the Carol of Lights tomorrow-"_

                "An excellent chance to take a few field samples, you're right!"

                "I mean, I'm not a bad tenor myself-"

                "I'll prepare a few soil and water capsules, you get the thermograph and my wind-net."

                "And I thought… Lord Babi?"  The ruler of Tolbi had already left the room, humming to himself in a self-satisfied way.

                "Quite an enthusiastic teacher," the Ghost commented.

                "Indeed," Kraden said, in a faraway voice.  "He showed me so much, taught me how to look for clues, gave me the lessons in life that I had never gained from my parents…"

                "Ye are na soundin' 'specially thankful at the mom'nt, ye scurvy alchemist!" Hail observed.

                "I was just remembering the Carol of Lights.  I went every year, you know.  That was my first great discovery, when I found that sometimes the songs seemed to cause Psynergy fluctuations…"

                "And now you're wondering something else," the Spirit prompted.

                "I'm wondering… if maybe I should have been paying closer attention to the songs than the air that carried them…" said Kraden.

                "It couldn't be this easy…" the Spirit whispered to Hail, who shook her head in agreement.

                "I might have discovered something even more.  Oh, why didn't I ever study the singers?  They might have been Adepts and not known it, they could have had entirely new forms of Psynergy!  For all I know, that's the one part I've been missing in creating the Stone of Sages, some kind of music."

                "It aren't," Hail stated flatly, and this time the Picard-Spirit nodded glumly.

                "Another time, then?" asked the Spirit.

                "What, are we done already?" asked Kraden, shaken out of his thoughts.

                "Of course not," said the Spirit of Christmas Past, grinning.  "I meant literally."  And with a wave of his holly branch they were in a different place.  It was not the same city as it was in the present, if 'present' still applied to Kraden, and he never got presents anyway, so who cares?

                "Where are we?  This is an inn… it is!  It's old Fezz… Fozz…  Faustus?  What was his name?"

                "You don't remember where we are?" asked the Spirit.

                "Of course I do!  Why, this is where I was first apprenticed, I was keeping the books for the innkeeper and trying to invent a heating system for his building…"  They entered, again without bothering with the door, and found themselves in the middle of what had to be a party, because there weren't any riot police in the room.

                "Arr!  A party in the true spirit o' pirating!" said Hail approvingly.

                "So many people," said the Spirit in Picard's shape.  "Do you know them all?"

                "Oh, yes, better than some of them know themselves!" said Kraden, who had lost enough of his gruff attitude in the face of so many memories.  "There's Ouran, old Ouran who walked with two limps and ran the fresh produce market, and Davin, my best friend, who was always saying I should just ask the Spirits… not you, I presume… how _they made gold and do it that way, and then there's Kiefer…"_

                "And who's that?" asked the Spirit.  Kraden shook himself back into the world to follow Picard's pointing finger until he saw a young woman across the room.  The roar of song and conversation seemed distant to him, watching the lady- and then he noticed himself, walking across the room, reading his book.

                ""But this cannot be my past.  Clearly there is about to be a meeting, but I don't remember anyone like her in my life!" Kraden protested.

                "Watch!" the Spirit hissed.  And Kraden did watch as his younger self bumped into her by mistake and dropped his book.  With a hurried apology, the youthful Kraden snatched the book back up and continued reading.  Behind him, Davin swept in and asked the lady if she was all right, if there was anything he could do.  She went with him, off into the crowd.

                "What?" Kraden yelped.  "You mean that was supposed to be _my_ life-changing encounter and he got it instead?!"

                "Avast with the ownership!  Ye didnae look up long enough ter see who ye was talkin' to, and that's what happened!" Hail admonished him.  "T'weren't yers ter start with."

                "You didn't see much of Davin after that party, did you?" asked the Spirit.  Kraden thought back, still watching himself amble on without a glimmer of understanding of what had just happened.

                "No.  I don't suppose I did.  Never thought about it, I suppose," said Kraden.

                "Well.  Let us see another time that _could have been your past."  The Spirit waved its holly branch yet again, and they were in a house.  The same young lady, now not quite so young, sat on a sofa between a blazing fire and a Christmas tree, with children on either side.  Davin entered too, and Kraden broke down._

                "I see it," he said, his voice cracking.  "I understand now.  The joy, the warmth…"

                "It _could be this easy," said the Spirit to Hail, grinning._

                "It should have been _mine!" Kraden shouted in fury and despair._

                "No, it aren't," said Hail, and the Spirit sagged in disappointment.  "Yer not 'xactly as brilliant as ye'd like us ter think, are ye?"

                "What?" asked Kraden, baffled.

                "Ye are na supposed to be sayin' 'that were mine and ye stole it', ye bearded twit!  Yer supposed ter be sayin' 'good ter see they're so warm an' fuzzy-happy'!" Hail ranted.

                "…I don't understand…"  He looked back at the holiday scene in confusion, baffled enough that he didn't have any room left over to be angry.  There was a wistfulness in his eyes too, like a Mercury Adept in a jail cell with a seaside view.  The house and the family faded to shadows, and then he was in his room, alone.

                "Do ye have any more o' that sparkly holly magic stuff?"

                "I'm afraid he's run out of any useful Past to speak of.  And we're obviously not done.  Talk to… Coal, I believe."

                "Arr!"

                "Is that the same as yes?"  
                "Arr!"

                "Is _that the same as yes?"_

                The darkness of Kraden's room seemed all the more forbidding to him without the Spirit's light, and his mind was abuzz for the first time in years without a single thought of mixing oak bark with mayfly wings by the light of the half-moon.

                "This looks like the place," said another familiar voice, somewhere else in the house.  "Hey, he actually has food in the pantry."

                "I'm about to appear with a celebratory feast and you're raiding his kitchen?"

                "I have a thing for cold chicken."

                "Oh, light the candles already."


	3. The Second Spirit

**A CHRISTMAS FUGUE******

**STAVE III: THE SECOND SPIRIT**

                Again the darkness was made not so dark.  Well, yes, the darkness itself was still dark.  But there was less of it, except underneath the furniture, where resistance groups gathered for a counterstrike against the invading candlelight.

                The light came from a Lucia Wreath, a crown of candles on the head of what Kraden presumed to be the second Spirit.  Where there had been only dark air before, he was now standing, as close to Kraden as I am to you now, and I am -in spirit- at your elbow, or -in a very specific case- behind you with my arms around your waist and my chin resting on your shoulder.  …Did I type that out loud?

                A-_hem.  Anyway, throughout the room a magnificent feast appeared, roasts of every description, bunches of fruit that could weigh down a strong horse, and some of the most luscious dishes Kraden could imagine.  His dresser drawers had pushed themselves open and overflowed with apples and peaches, grapes hung from the curtains and his pillow was now flat under the weight of a turkey the size of all the Venus Djinn put together._

                But even that surprise paled to Kraden's shock at who had appeared in all this.  He was young, perhaps twelve, but very clearly blue, and that made the rest of the recognition much easier.

                "Apparently I've got to show up like this, with the food and everything," said Saturos.  "It's all kind of pretentious, I think.  I'm supposed to teach you the true meaning of Christmas and so I come into being surrounded by a material feast?  It's a bit of a tease, too, since you don't get to eat it."

                "What are you doing here, foul villain?" Kraden shouted, falling over backwards.

                "I don't call that very seasonal," said a Mars Djinni, hopping up onto Saturos' shoulder.

                "Not another blasted Djinni!" snarled the old man

                "Here's the thing, Kraden," said Saturos.  "I was nasty in the end, but I wasn't all bad, so when I died, I got a choice, and this was the good option.  Seems fair to me, I get this cool torch and everything."  He waved his iron sceptre, which was empty at the top where fuel for the flame would go.  "You, though, you've been pretty much a drain on the species from the beginning, and you're doomed to eternal imprisonment by your own chains right now.  So you don't get to talk to Coal like that."

                Coal nudged Saturos in the jaw with his foot.  "Don't tell me you've forgotten your line."

                "He knows who I am."

                "Tradition is important."

                Saturos gave a deep sigh, followed by the closest thing to a booming laugh that he could manage.  "Come in!  Come in, and know me better man!"

                "I'm already in," Kraden pointed out.

                "I know.  Coal insisted."

                "That's certainly something I'm familiar with.  Wait… Coal?  I suppose it figures that you're one of the Djinn helping the Christmas Ghosts.  Shouldn't you be in a sock of some kind?" asked Kraden, less nastily than Coal would have expected.  Maybe the Picard-Spirit had been more effective than he had believed.

                "I am the Ghost of Christmas Present," said Saturos, having become fed up with the stalling.  "Come with me, and I shall show you that which you need to learn."

                "You would be more convincing if you weren't an eighth my age," Kraden pointed out.

                "Haven't I told you about this?  Anyway, I'm the one with the shiny ethereal robe and the torch of magical power, so officially speaking, I'm older.  Ghosts are nontemporal," Saturos countered.

                "Really?  Could we go to my workshop and perform a few tests?"

                "It's about bloody time that we got rid of that particular obsession of yours.  This way," said Saturos, raising his flameless torch.  Before Kraden could ask 'which way', the torch had flashed like the beacon on a lighthouse and- he was getting used to this -the world around all three of them had changed.

                They stood in the snow, which felt strangely less like ice crystals and more like warm cotton, in the centre of Vale while people bustled around them.  Sheba and the real Picard were standing at the top of the nearest cliff, combining Tornado and Diamond Dust Psynergies to improve the blanket of snow covering the village with a small blizzard.

                Jenna and Garet were having a friendly (and overly affectionate, in some people's opinions) competition, trying to light the candles and torches around the village plaza from the greatest distance.  Jenna's Beams were significantly more accurate than Garet's attempts with Fire, but from what Kraden could make out of the scoring system (and the slight lipstick marks) he was more than happy to lose miserably.

                Felix was focusing Growth on the chosen tree that had been replanted near the Psynergy Stone, raising it into the needled behemoth that the Valeans preferred to decorate.  As Kraden watched, it topped thirty feet, with Ivan swaying about at the top and swearing a variety of good-natured forms of revenge would be his upon Felix for convincing Ivan to do this.

                "Incredible," Kraden murmured as a cluster of people in thick coats passed by, huddled together as they felt the brunt of Sheba and Picard's festive ice storm.  'Festive' had been added into the mix now that someone had thrown a basket of holly into the air and created a red and green swirl amidst the ice.  "I've never seen anything like this before."

                "Ah- AAAHH!" Garet screamed as his sleeve caught fire.  He dashed to the pool around the stone, shoved his arm through the layer of ice, and calmed slightly as he doused his blazing arm.

                "Garet!" Jenna called, running just behind him.  "Are you okay?"

                Saturos, who had watched the whole thing impassively, waved his torch over the ice.  Several drops of water fell from it, which seemed odd enough to Kraden, but they also passed through the ice and out of sight.  Garet withdrew his arm, in perfect condition.

                "I'm fine," he told Jenna, proving it with a wave of his arm, but then recoiled.  The fabric was mostly gone, and he had just raised wet skin into very cold wind.

                "Maybe we should head inside," said Jenna.

                "Make a fire," Garet added.

                "Don't forget-" she began.

                "-the hot chocolate," he finished, not missing a beat.

                "What was that?" Kraden asked, bewildered, as the two Mars Adepts walked away, looking more like one four-legged bundle.  "Your torch," he added, when Saturos gave him a quizzical look.

                "Oh, usually the Ghost of Christmas Present gets a torch that sprinkles water containing the essence of benevolence and joy-"

                "You know, I almost managed to create some of that last spring, using ground mandrake root and Cruel Dragon scales," Kraden interjected.  Coal leapt over and pulled the old man's hood over his head.

                "-but after a lifetime of combat and way more bad stuff than I ever meant to do, I traded it in for healing water.  It's not so festive, and I can only use it on Christmas Day still, but it's useful," Saturos finished, having paused only long enough to nod approvingly at Coal.

                "Spirit," said Kraden, distantly.  He was watching the people of Vale, half of whom were laughing, some were singing, and not a single frown could have been seen for fifteen hundred miles.  Kraden didn't know this for certain, but suspected deep down that the mayor of Alhafra wouldn't be smiling, even on Christmas Day, unless someone had put a merchant vessel under his tree.

                Some where in the depths of his soul, a reminder of the old Kraden said that if that Alhafran thing who called himself a man didn't like this day, there had to be some good to it.

                "Spirit, show me more!  I had no idea that Christmas could be like this!" said Kraden, enthusiastically.

                "I admit," Saturos said to Coal as he led Kraden up the village's slopes, passing more merrymaking villagers, "that there might have still been a certain satisfaction I took in a _few_ of the evil-ish deeds.  For example, not having to ask for anything was a huge change in my life."

                "Where are you going?" asked Coal.

                "Literally or figuratively?"

                "Both."

                "Figuratively, I'm saying that I'm going to rather enjoy this next part.  A good emotional hammering to Old Man Alchemy back there, but for his own good.  It's the best of both worlds.  Literally," Saturos went on, waiting for to Kraden to catch up, "I'm going to the home of your assistant, Isaac."

                "Oh, Isaac, yes!  I'm sure he must be having an excellent day, always knew how to celebrate at the right time!  You know, I haven't felt like this in years!" Kraden bubbled.

                "I'm going to enjoy watching him meet the Third Spirit, too," Saturos told Coal quietly.

                They seemed to walk for ages through the decorated and snow-bound village, coming across a new bunch of dancers or decorators or carollers every time Kraden turned his head.  Twice Saturos stopped to heal people who had slipped on ice, and once removed the flu from someone who had woken up ill that morning.

                At last they reached a house that looked not so unlike the others, except for a figure in the thick snow on top of the roof, trying to attach some sort of garland to the chimney and around the edges of the house.  As they watched his lost his grip, tumbled down the side, and plummeted to the ground in a massive cloud of falling snow.  As Saturos was again sprinkling as much water on him as he could without seeming to show favouritism, the front door slammed open.

                From it came two children, both quite young but neither looking like the type to be shy or be overwhelmed by anything short of at least three Fusion Dragons being fused, and even then they would have to be quite nearby.

                "Dad, why do you always do things the hard way?" asked one.

                "Ask your mother," Isaac replied, still half upside-down in a brand new snowbank.  "She'll tell you a very long story involving Lighthouses and accidentally endangering the world by trying to save it."

                "We know that one," said the other, helping Isaac up.  "What's that got to do with anything?"

                "I was rather hoping it would distract you until you forgot about the question."

                "Come on, dad, you know you can just ask us to help," the second continued.

                "Carol, I don't want you to strain yourself, you could get sick," said Isaac.  Carol took no notice, but held up the long string of holly and evergreen twigs.

                "_Lash," she said matter-of-factly, as though it were unthinkable that the Psynergy could fail, and it didn't, possibly just because it would have been embarrassed to ignore her.  It tied itself neatly around the chimney, and hung in long arcs around a side of the house for good measure._

                Carol's brother frowned at her.  "_Lift," he said, and hung two lanterns at the same time on either side of the door.  Carol refused to take this lying down._

                "_Carry," she cast, and quickly looped the rest of the string along the edge of the house in a series of swift Psynergy-hand motions._

                "_Force," said the boy, and an ice-crystal filled moment later he had driven a path through the snow leading to the door._

                "_Scoop!"  Carol held a handful of snow over her brother's head with a determined look in her eye._

                "Hey, stop it," said Isaac, standing between the two.  With a wave of his hand he shoved aside the hovering snow and glared at them both in turn.  "Why does everything have to be a competition between you two?"

                "Yeah, Nick," said Carol, in the tone of all children at such times.

                "Sheesh, and you call mom the Ice Queen," said Nick, earning a stern look of his very own from Isaac, who was also trying very hard not to grin.

                "Quiet.  Now, both of you inside, you're going to catch a chill," said Isaac, firmly.

                "I wish.  When do we get our own Djinn, anyway?" asked Nick.  He was intercepted on his way to the door when Carol coughed in a way that sounded suspiciously like 'Move' and snow toppled off the roof onto him.

                "Such troublesome things," Saturos remarked.

                Kraden seemed taken aback.  "Troublesome?  Those two?  Such vibrant and lively little children?"

                "Don't vibrant and lively mean the same thing?" asked Coal.

                "They don't do what they're told, they fight, they're just…" Saturos listed.

                "Childish?" Kraden suggested.  "Perhaps.  And perhaps that's not such a bad thing to be."

                "I hoped you might think so," said Saturos, wandering through (literally) the door.

                "You did?!"

                His head poked back through.  "Of course.  People can be surprisingly easy to convince of something if they think they're arguing with someone else.  I should think someone so wise as you would be well aware of that."  Then he vanished again.

                Kraden was wary now as he followed.  He paused at the door and reached out to see if it was actually there.  He knocked solidly once and found that he couldn't walk through as Saturos and Coal had, but Isaac didn't hear the tapping, either.

                The door opened.  "Blast, though I had you on that one," said the blue-haired boy.  "Practically everyone tries to walk through the door."

                "Why do you keep saying that?  I thought I was being made an exception, but you spirits talk as if this sort of thing happens all the time," said Kraden.

                "Nearly, nearly.  Only for the right kind of people, though, those who can be saved.  There's more than one person in the world who'll never get a visit such as you have.  Of course, there are many, many more who don't need one," Saturos pointed out.

                "When's mom going to be home?" Nick asked, and Kraden could somehow tell from Isaac's face that he had heard this before today, more than once.

                "Soon, soon, go check the food," said Isaac

                "I've already checked twice this morning!  What dramatic catastrophe can possibly befall any sort of bird while it's being cooked?  I mean, yeah, there's some fire involved, but it's not exactly _risky_."

                "It could always turn out that there was a mixup while someone thought they were hunting pheasant and a Wonderbird got taken in to the market-" Carol's voice was slightly muffled by the door closing behind them as they went into the kitchen "-and then it got sorted into the wrong group and the merchants brought it all the way to Vale and mom and dad bought it, only now we've put it in the oven and the fire's going to resurrect it and we'll have an evil phoenix in the kitchen."

                There was a silent moment.  Isaac seemed to be counting under his breath.  "Daaad!"

                "Six," he muttered to himself.  "What is it, Nick?"

                "How can you tell the difference between a Wonderbird and a turkey?"

                "Wonderbirds turn to ash when they die," he replied.

                "Ha ha, fooled you," Carol taunted Nick.

                The door swung open, and Mia appeared, along with a third, much smaller child in a swirl of snow that glinted in the sunlight.  Isaac was with her in an instant, holding her before the Mercury Adept could even start to take her coat off.  "Don't get me wrong," he whispered into her ear, "I love kids, but can't we trade with someone else?"

                Mia laughed and gave Isaac a light slap on the shoulder.  "Go decorate something!"

                "Nothing left, those two got outside and started playing Adept Wars.  Hey!"  Isaac dropped to his knees and wrapped the tiny boy in a hug.  "Did you have fun with mom?"

                "Oh, yes Robin did, and they'll be cleaning up the plaza until the new year," said Mia.

                "I only missed the first time," he argued, and as Robin turned to tell Isaac all about trying to use Tremor to get the snow off the roof (and accidentally casting it behind him instead, which was unfortunately where the giant tree was) Kraden saw something strange.

                "What is that contraption on his legs, Spirit?" the old man asked.

                "A support frame," said Saturos, simply.  "Robin was born weak, very weak, and has never recovered.  Without those iron rods, he wouldn't even be able to stand on his own legs, and it goes deeper than that.  He lacks energy, lacks the strength to fight off sickness.  Why do you think Isaac was so adamant about Carol and Nick going back inside?  He doesn't want to lose anyone else."

                "Lose?" Kraden repeated.  "Surely he'll grow stronger.  And why not use your torch?"

                "I cannot heal all wounds, Kraden.  This is beyond my power.  It is an insidious disease that has him, Kraden.  And he won't last much longer.  I cannot see beyond the present, not truly, but the next Christmas day looks much emptier than this one."

                And as Kraden watched, he saw precisely what Saturos meant by emptier.  Who could not!  Though weak in body, none in the house was as strong in spirit as Robin.  He sang loudest and laughed hardest, though both faded to coughing a few moments later, and there was a joy in his heart that seemed to spread to all those around him.

                "It was good for me to go out," Robin insisted.  "It's Christmas, after all, and it's a day for everyone.  People should remember the power this day has, that it lets even one like me stand freely and speak firmly.  It's a day for hope, and what better symbol is there?"

                "You're not a symbol, Robin," said Mia.

                "No, not to you, but to most people I am.  I symbolise the courage of all people- even if it is hidden deep down somewhere.  That spirit that won't let us fall down and surrender, even when things look worst," Robin went on.

                "Like when an avalanche of ornaments is coming their way," Nick suggested.

                "Sometimes metaphors need to be really obvious," said Mia, evenly.  "Or even things that aren't metaphors.  I have proof of that."

                "You're not still on about Venus Lighthouse, are you?" asked Isaac.  "It's perfectly reasonable to be nervous."

                "For most people, yes," Mia admitted.  Then she grinned rather impishly.  "From someone who's just beaten a dragon single-handedly, I expect backbone.  Next time I'm not going to save you from yourself.  One kiss is all you get."

                "Yeah, right," Nick muttered.

                "Tell the story about the Lighthouse again!" said Carol.

                "Maybe without the mushy ending," said Nick.

                "Fuzzy," Carol corrected him.

                And so it went on and on, and Kraden wondered if he could ask the Spirit to keep him in this day that he might live through it again, so pleased was he by the celebration.  Until, at last, dinner, when Isaac proposed a toast and didn't get the reaction he had been hoping for.

                "To Kraden," said Isaac, "father to heroes."  For a moment, Kraden felt a burst of tremendous pride, recalling that it had been he who set the quest in motion by entering Sol Sanctum, and happy that Isaac gave him credit for it.

                "Kraden!" Mia yelped, as though she had been burnt (which is quite a thing for a Mercury Adept).  "I should think not!  That nasty relic, who keeps you away all day blowing things up and never has a thought for another person in the world?"

                "Mia," said Isaac, a little reproachfully.

                "Kraden, who wouldn't spare the wine to toast you if you gave him a glass!  I do wish he were here now, and I'd have a toast for him, all right!  I'd give him a piece of my mind, I hope he'd choke on it, and then haul him down to Jenna's house!  _That's a toast!"_

                "Mia," said Isaac again.  "The children, Christmas Day."

                "Nah, I'm with mom on this one, dad," said Nick.

                "Definitely," Carol chimed in.

                "To Kraden!" said Robin, as though the others hadn't even spoken.  Mia melted instantly (which is also quite a thing for a Mercury Adept) but held firmly onto her opinion.

                "Oh, very well.  To Kraden, may he be very merry and happy," she said, and added very quietly "and blast himself into a thousand pieces."

                "I heard that," said Carol.

                "Me too," Nick followed.

                Night had fallen outside, and the house seemed to fade, drifting away.  Kraden found himself trudging through the snow with Saturos again.  He wanted to be silent, to think for a moment, but the Ghost of Christmas Present wouldn't let him.

                "Bit of shock, wasn't it?" he asked.

                "What of it?" Kraden demanded.

                "The boy will die," Saturos remarked, as if they had been talking about Robin for hours.  "And Isaac is helpless to do anything about it.  He and Mia have enough trouble caring for the rest of the family, let alone trying to combat whatever strange malady Robin has been afflicted with."

                "Whatever do you mean?" asked Kraden.

                "You're as blind as a fish in a sack, did you know that?" asked Coal.

                "Kraden, they can hardly afford what they have right now.  Didn't you see the nearly empty rooms, the food that they all thought a feast?  You hardly pay Isaac, but demand all his time," said Saturos.

                "I thought he liked the work.  He must, why else would he be here?"

                "Because there's nowhere else to go.  There's nothing for them in Vale, but with Robin as weak as he is, they can't go anywhere else, either.  The boy needs care too often, and that causes them trouble too."

                "Basically, he's dead if they leave, or they can stay, be miserable, and he'll die later," said Coal.  Saturos smacked the Djinni so that he spun around, off his shoulder and into the snow.

                "I didn't know…" Kraden whispered.

                "You didn't care enough to look," Saturos pointed out.  He stopped.  They had reached the foot of the mountain again, and the ring of ice that surrounded the great Psy Crystal.  It was flashing, a slow, regular pulse that counted the hour of the day, on the hour.

                "You're fading," Kraden observed.

                "Oh, yes, Christmas Day is ending.  That's what it means to be the Spirit of the Present- you don't last long, but you shine the brightest.  I'll be gone at the twelfth hour, and then there will only be one left for you to meet," Saturos told him.

                "Past and Present I know…" Kraden said.

                "So one Spirit remains, with one more lesson."

                "The Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come," said the alchemist, nearly trembling.

                "'Future' tends to work for most of us," said Saturos.  The Crystal flashed, eight, nine.

                "I'll remember what I've learned from you, Saturos," Kraden promised.

                "You had best," said the transparent boy, "or you'll never have a chance…"

                Twelve.  Saturos was gone.  The winds had stopped, the starlight seemed fainter, and Kraden turned to the Psy Crystal and saw that it was still glowing with the light of the last beat.  It let that brightness flow from its sides, and the purple energy swirled past Kraden.  He understood, and turned again to face a tall figure, cloaked and hooded in black.  The third Spirit had come.


	4. The Final Spirit and The End of It

**A CHRISTMAS FUGUE**

**STAVE IV: THE FINAL SPIRIT AND THE END OF IT**

* * *

The Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come stood perfectly still, so frozen that Kraden wondered if it had been caught by the icy wind, or if maybe it was just a shadow in his imagination. That hopeful thought was crushed quickly when purple and amber lights -ones that he had thought were just decorations on trees- swirled together into a pair of Djinn on the figure's cloaked shoulders. Kraden was almost happy to see them, since he knew they would speak incessantly, and that would take his mind off troubles.

Naturally, they did not. On closer inspection, he guessed that they were Gasp and Bane. Just in case he didn't feel as though his life was at risk already.

"Spirit," said Kraden, "I fear you most of all, but I have learned much from your fellows. I am willing to follow you, and consider what you show me with newly opened eyes."

His speech didn't faze the thing. Bane and Gasp were stony-faced. This was expected from the former, but a soul-chilling shock from the latter. None of them moved at all.

"Why do you not speak to me?" he asked, more frantically. At last it moved, raising an arm that seemed as malleable as shadow- it appeared to stretch toward Kraden as it came up to his shoulder height, like the shade from a tree lengthening as the sun set.

The third Spirit put its hand on his shoulder, though it was hidden by folds of black fabric, and led him back toward the Psy Crystal. It was pulsing more gently now, at precisely the rhythm of Kraden's own heartbeat. When he noticed this, both rates sped up considerably.

The Crystal's glow twisted around him strangely, rays of purple light that spiralled around him until a tunnel had been woven from the strands, one that seemed to move with incredible speed, taking them to… not another place, Kraden knew. Another time. One that had not yet been.

Vale was dark. The clouds overhead were not like those of the previous Christmas Day, a cheerful white blanket, but grey behemoths that had the audacity to rain on the snow. Already the village seemed to be knee-deep in frozen Swiss cheese.

"This is outright… what's the word? When the weather follows the mood of a scene?" The hood and both Djinn glared at him. Somehow, the hood managed to glare even harder than Bane, which was scary of itself. "Well, it is. Where are we-"

"It's about time," said a low voice. Kraden spun to see three figures dashing through the snow but managing to remain entirely un-festive anyway. He guessed that this had something to do with all the things they were carrying- they were all his, and the bulging sacks weren't promising either.

"You're telling me?" said the third in the line. "I thought he'd never die."

"We'll get a good deal on some of these. I heard he invented a couple of those machines himself. Not another like 'em in the world."

"One of a kind's always good," the first agreed. "Hard to bargain when there's no one else to go to. Time fer some price-gouging!"

"Wait…" said the third. "Guys… don't you think…"

"What is it?" the second demanded, angry at the delay in their escape.

"Do you think maybe this is… like… wrong? Raiding a house and taking the possessions of-"

"Remember whose they were," the first pointed out.

"Oh. Right." He nodded. "Let's keep going, then."

"Or else he might dig his way up and follow us," the third muttered.

"I'm surprised he didn't demand to be buried with the rest of his workshop," the second joked.

"Thieves," Kraden growled, too far away to be heard and probably not quite in the same reality, either. "Thieves from Lunpa, ransacking my workshop! And what was that… about… about being buried…" Kraden trailed off.

The Ghost watched him impassively as one thought slowly built on top of another, until Kraden finally reached the only conclusion. It made his cloaked companion all the more appropriate, anyway.

"Oh," the old Alchemist said. "Oh." At last a reaction– the hood nodded, perhaps sympathetically, or perhaps just simple confirmation.

Bane didn't say "Definitely the second one." He didn't need to.

Kraden refused to believe it. It was a warning, nothing more. There was no reason to assume those Lunpan thieves had been talking about him. "I understand," he told the third Spirit, quavering but trying not to show it. "If I do not change my ways, this unfortunate man's situation might be my own. A useful lesson. Please, teach me more."

"I still can't believe it," said a voice that horrified Kraden with its familiarity.

"Believe it, Garet," said Jenna, helping him drag a large tree through the quiet streets, toward their house. The rain calmed quite a bit, possibly for fear of angering the Mars Adepts.

"It just doesn't seem possible," Garet said again.

"I don't see why not. Everyone dies sometime," Jenna told him, pragmatically.

"But him? I thought he was indestructible."

"Oh, no…" said Kraden. "Not Isaac. Please, Spirit, tell me nothing's happened to Isaac…" The figure said nothing, nor did its Djinn. Kraden watched carefully, but even Bane gave away nothing to the question of his Adept's death.

"Are you going to go to the funeral?" asked Jenna.

"You sound like you aren't planning to," Garet observed, trying to the lift the tree higher.

"I don't know if it's my place," Jenna explained.

"Oh, come on, you were as much friends with him as anyone," Garet told her.

"Why won't you speak?!" Kraden shouted at the shadowy hood. "Why do you delight in torturing me so?!" It took no notice.

"Might be worth going," Garet decided. "Free food, that sort of thing."

"Hurry up, Garet. Let's get this inside and then head up to Isaac's house," said Jenna.

Kraden fell to his knees in the crunchy wet snow. "Oh, praise the Spirits –even my untalkative companion here– he's alive! Thank… heavens… but then who's dead?" Kraden turned suspiciously on the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come.

It motioned for him to stand, then pointed up the slope of Vale. Kraden started to walk that way, with the Spirit and both Djinn just behind him, when another light tunnel swirled around them. It faded away quickly, and they stood by Isaac and Mia's house. It was less decorated this year, but there were still warm lights in the windows.

"Oh, thank you, Spirit, for bringing me to this place. I need to see some goodness in this dreary and dark possibility," said Kraden. The Ghost was unmoved, and simply pointed with one long finger at the front door. Kraden approached, wondering if he might be able to pass through it this time, but instead Isaac came running around the side and opened the door. Kraden slipped in with him.

The house was quieter, too. Isaac slipped his boots off as silently as possible and crept into his own living room. "Mia?" he called. "Where are you?"

"Here," she answered, and her shoulder appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. She was leaning against the frame wearily, looking like there really had been a mixup with a Wonderbird this year.

They kissed, but shortly, with more need than simple affection. "Your eyes look terrible."

"I've been cutting onions," Mia replied weakly.

"Oh."

"In bad light."

"I see."

"And the potatoes were smoking a lot."

"Most people try to boil them in water, not air."

Mia grinned a little, but she seemed to be a shell of her former self. Isaac, too; both of them looked like they were afraid at any moment the entire world would shatter around them like an icicle dropped off Jupiter Lighthouse.

"Spirit, what has happened here?" asked Kraden, not giving up on his attempts to get even a word out of his ethereal guide. That it didn't answer hardly needs to be said.

"Where are the children?" asked Isaac.

"I sent them to Dora's for the afternoon," Mia replied. Isaac nodded solemnly.

"They're alone in the house and still so melancholy…" Kraden murmured. "What could be wrong?" He thought for a moment, but the answer was explained to him quickly enough.

"I'll help you with the cooking, and then maybe we can take it down to Dora's instead. Have a nice… a nice family dinner," said Isaac, fading to a whisper at the end. "I think Carol and Nick would like that."

"Robin," Kraden realised. "Already? But he was still so young…"

"That doesn't really matter," Gasp didn't say. He didn't need to.

"Have you picked a place yet?" Mia asked softly.

"Maybe. I'd like you to see it first," Isaac replied.

"I trust you."

"I know you do. I meant I thought it would do you good to see what it looks like. At that hilltop, you can see clear from Sol Sanctum to Vault, maybe all the way to the Karagol. It's really beautiful."

"Not Robin," Kraden pleaded. "You can't…"

"I didn't," the cloaked figure didn't say.

The room faded to sheer darkness, and when Kraden opened his eyes next, he stood at what had to be that same hilltop that Isaac spoke of. There was a place marked out nearby, under a leafless tree. He was amazed at the spirit's cold heart, for taking him to this place, and at this time!

"What now? Don't you see me mourning the boy? What more is there for me to do?"

"Much," the cloak would have replied, if it had not remained silent.

Kraden watched the plot for a little while longer, until he thought his legs would give out and he would fall in the snow to remain for the rest of his life. But the Ghost came up to him, put one hand on his shoulder, and with the other gestured at the rest of the stone markers, further off. Kraden hadn't realised that he had been taken to Vale's graveyard.

"What else must I see? Is there no light in this terrible future?" But he trudged off to the stones anyway. A thought made him pause. "Spirit… is this what _will_ be, or just a glimpse of things that _may_ be?" This time the Ghost didn't even not say anything, and the Djinn might have been gargoyles. Kraden walked on, but turned again after only a few steps. "This _must_ be only a possibility, why else would you show me such things?"

Not receiving the slightest indication that he had even spoken from the Ghost (it reminded Kraden of the times he had tried talking to Ivan's cat) he crept between headstones instead, looking for whatever he was supposed to see. Many carved names passed him by, but none seemed significant.

It seemed to Kraden that he _heard_ the Spirit's firm pointing, and when he turned back he saw that it was indicating one marker with its long arm. Kraden was seized by an urge not to look at it. He innocently pointed at a different one nearby. In the clouds high above Vale, lightning flashed and rent the sky. He decided that probably meant no.

The stone was frosted with the most recent snow, though its white veil had been streaked by the rain. At last, hurried on by another blast of thunder, Kraden wiped the snow off. He wasn't surprised by the words, but they sent him to his knees, begging for it not to be true. It said KRADEN, and underneath was a sentence in one of the old languages. Perhaps, he thought, some people had thought he would like the recognition of his passion for ancient knowledge.

It was less heartening when you could actually read the words, especially the ones he wished he didn't know. Even long-lost languages can be horrendously insulting.

"It can't be!" he shouted, leaping to his feet. "I won't let this be the future! And who are you to say it shall be so, to show me this future and stand there silently as I am in torment?! Why won't you _speak?!_" Kraden packed and hurled a snowball at the hood, and to his moderate astonishment, he actually hit. To his more considerable astonishment, his projectile swept the hood back and revealed that there was nothing there for him to have hit.

The Ghost shrugged its cloak back, now wearing it only like a cape, revealing dark plate armor from neck to toe, massive metal that was the colour of the night sky and much more forbidding. Kraden knew this thing, this terrible shadow, he had watched as the Adepts battled it in the depths of Anemos Sanctum.

It didn't have a head to tilt, and so Kraden had to guess that it would have gone through motions to express the sentiment "Is it clear why I haven't been especially talkative? Good. Now that that's settled…" And then it took one giant step forward, reaching out with both arms and falling upon Kraden.

"No!" he shouted as a ton of shadow-iron toppled upon his frail form, cape trailing behind, and the universe went black.

* * *

When Kraden hit the ground, though, it was the floor, and he had been tackled only by his coat stand. His favourite robe completely failed to attempt to strangle, crush, or otherwise destroy him. Kraden wasn't the type, however he appeared, to question his own senses. That wasn't scientific. 

Instead he leapt up and sprinted to the window, slamming it open and relieved to see that Vale was not a stormy place, but instead frozen and white, and the rising sun was chasing the clouds across the sky, leaving it open and blue.

A small boy was passing by below the windowsill. Kraden wondered for a moment if the Spirits had taken him back in time. He glanced down, thought of asking, then spun to his desk. The compass-turned-clock clearly indicated December 25th, the very day he wanted.

"Christmas Day!" Kraden shouted, attracting the boy's attention anyway. "They did it! They brought me back! Of course they can do that, they can do whatever they like!" The boy looked as though he was thinking about agreeing with the reputed lunatic, but decided better, and instead ran off. "Oh, I have so much to do, so much to do, I have to get to my workshop…" The old man paused for a moment. "Yes… yes, I have to get to my workshop…"

* * *

_Thump thump thump._ Isaac tried to pretend he didn't hear it at first. _Thumpthumpthumpthumpthump_. The knocking at the door became more insistent, and he reluctantly left Mia by the fire. Robin was resting after the morning's excitement, Nick and Carol were out in the midst of either a snow-war or baking with Dora, and he was being called to the door of all places. If it was Garet, unpleasant icy things were going to happen to him. 

He opened the door and immediately slammed it shut again. Isaac turned to lean against the wall, one hand pressed to his forehead. "I've got to get a different job. Or stop going in so much. I'm starting to hallucinate."

He tried again, curious as to who had really been knocking. "_Merry Christmas!_" Kraden bellowed.

"It _can't_ be you," Isaac insisted, as if he were trying to convince the old man. "You don't smile. It's a known fact. It's like the gravitational constant, or Felix burning himself when he tries to bake."

"Uncertainty, Isaac, my dear friend, uncertainty! You may know where I have been, or where I'm going, but you can't know both at once, and no one knows the second but Sol itself!"

Kraden _was_ smiling, a smile that defied description– especially on the face of one who hadn't smiled in a decade. He was holding a basket filled with… mostly devices and potions of the sort he had never seen before, but Isaac was almost certain there was a rather turkey-like shape to it that suggested a giant roasting fowl had been entombed within.

"What in Venus' domain are those for? Kraden, I _told_ you I'm not working today!"

Kraden just smiled all the wider. "I'm not asking you to–" he began, but that was more or less all he could manage for the next few moments.

"Too freezing right you're not asking him!" Mia declared, swooping in around the door, past her husband, and close enough to try to lift Kraden by his collar with one hand. She couldn't actually get him off the ground, but it was a terrifying position nonetheless. "I've had enough of your ordering, your crazy schemes, and your demonic concept of 'work hours'! You are not going to have _anything_ to do with Christmas Day! And if you don't get away from our house this _minute_ I'm going to– I don't want to hear about it!" It would be worth noting that Kraden hadn't opened his mouth to speak, he was merely desperate for breath. "What gives _you_ the right to–"

"I have something for Robin," he rasped. Mia stopped in midsentence, and it would be wrong to say her demeanour changed entirely, but she was suddenly more curious and cautious than terrifying.

"…What?" asked Isaac, and motioned for Mia to let the Alchemist go.

Kraden breathed gratefully and indicated the basket that had fallen into the snow and sunk quite a distance. "Several things, in fact. Reinforcing bones and muscles is mostly Venus Psynergy, as humans are the emblem of earth, but with the combination of the other elements a level of…" Isaac and Mia stared at him blankly. "Oh, don't you _see_? It's all partial alchemy, which is the most I've ever achieved, but I _have_ achieved it, if only I had been aware enough to see where I could put it to any use!"

"…You can help him," Isaac said eventually.

"Better than any doctor," Kraden promised. "I can't guarantee immediate success, but it won't be at all difficult, just time-consuming… oh!" He caught sight of two figures in the distance and lost his train of thought. "Isaac, take these in before they freeze, will you? I'll be back in, oh, who knows, soon, soon!"

The old man charged through the snow toward the envoys from Kalay, who were making a final pass through the village before starting the trip home. They heard Kraden's cries as he dashed through the snow, and it was an impressive dash despite the lack of horse or sleigh.

One of them pushed the other on to run faster, turned to face Kraden, and drew his sword. "Run on! I shall hold him off as long as I can!"

"What?" his companion demanded.

"If we both fall here, none will ever know our tale! Run on, and tell my family what became of me in this distant, frozen land!" the first insisted, steeling himself to resist the oncoming madman.

"…There's something _wrong_ with you," the second Kalayan remarked, and nudged the aspiring hero aside. "Good morning, Master Kraden!"

"Good morning, good morning, and a merry Christmas to the both of you!" he declared, skidding to a powder-spraying halt.

"Christmas isn't celebrated in Kalay–" the sane one began.

"Oh, no matter, enjoy it while you're here, there's so much to go around! And I think you may find you'll be glad you stayed to take this," he said, dropping something glittery into the odd-but-brave warrior's hand.

"What is this?" he asked, raising the metal.

"A key. Made from gold," said Kraden. "The golden key to the golden cave. It's at the bottom of the slope, by the fountain, third crag from the right. Take as much as you want; even if I could use it I'd do less good than you will. And now I must go cure a sick, invalid child– good day, and merry Christmas!"

The Kalayans watched him go, practically skipping through the snow. At least it appeared he did so, as skipping becomes very difficult past a certain age. They traded glances, then turned back to watch the receding Alchemist.

"This is what Christmas does to these northerners?"

"We should see if it can be introduced to Alhafra."

* * *

"Come _on_, Garet!" Jenna called. "This fire won't burn forever, and to get more wood we'd have to go out into… ergh… the _cold_." The Mars Adept shivered and looked over the back of the sofa at Garet, who insisted on looking out all the windows every few minutes. The view never changed, always a night-blue view of Vale and the fresh-falling snow.

"Do you _really_ think they turned down my invitation?" he asked, rhetorically.

"Isaac wouldn't be stopped by a dragon, and it's not like Mia's afraid to go out into the cold or anything. They're probably on their way right now," Jenna assured him.

"It's just not like Isaac to be late."

"If you don't come over here and sit in front of the hearty roaring fire with me you're going to be the one who's _late_, Garet!"

"Ho ho ho," he said darkly, sliding over the back of the furniture with only token complaint. It really was a fantastic fire she had started –rather, Char had started– and of course anything could be improved in his mind by adding Jenna. Feeling her snuggling closer in under his arm, Garet remembered the way things had looked before the long Lighthouse journey.

Isaac and Jenna had been friends all their lives, and they were practically in the perfect situation to develop a whole new relationship… and then Kratos stepped in and threw everything into chaos, and when the world had settled down, Isaac had met Mia, and Jenna was looking at the more experienced, braver, and even fractionally wiser Garet in a new light.

Serene in warmth that defied the icy season, he wondered if he had ever thanked Kraden for that particular mistake, or if the old man even knew what a change he had wrought in so many lives. What would have happened to the two of them if there had never been a quest for the Golden Sun…?

"_Here–_"

"_Here–_" "_We–_"

"_We–_" "_Come–_"

"_A–_" "_Wassailing!_"

"_Mom_, tell Carol that I get to set the time and not her!" a young voice shouted outside.

"I can sing whenever I _want_ to!" a second familiar one countered.

"Only my children could invent two-part harmony to annoy each other," Mia remarked.

"_Here we come a-wassailing among the leaves so green_

_Here we come a wandering so fair to be seen_

_Love and joy come to you_

_And to you our wassail too_

_And Sol bless you and send you a happy new year_

_And Sol send you a happy new year!_"

By now Garet and Jenna were at the door, and both were relieved to see Mia and her two older children coming, all in some joyous family squabble that was sure to involve Psynergy-propelled snowballs in the very near future.

"Mia! What are you doing here with these two scoundrels?" Jenna joked.

"Hey!" Nick protested, and continued the song, because he was annoyingly clever at times. "_We are not daily beggars that beg from door to door…_"

"_But we are neighbours' children that you have seen before!_" Carol finished smoothly, and began eyeing the snowdrifts built up over the door. "I'll give you 'wassail'," she muttered. "…I don't know what wassail even _is_."

"Where are Isaac and Robin?" Garet asked, preferring not to let go of an idea until he was sure it wouldn't jump him the moment he turned his back.

"They're coming over the hill soon," Mia promised, looking back the way they had come. "They had some extra carrying to do. It's nice that your house is right in front of the village tree and all, but you have to admit it's a long walk from our place."

Not understanding what Robin could be helping his father with, Garet and Jenna exchanged glances –it was refreshing to see that for once she was as baffled as him– and then followed Mia's gaze to the crest of the nearby hill. A glowing light appeared first in the snowy air, and eventually they saw three figures appear.

Isaac held Kraden's giant turkey a bit awkwardly, which was already enough to excite Garet (he had never seen leftovers before in his life, but perhaps this time…) but it was nothing compared to Robin walking beside his father, arms laden with gifts for both families.

"Um… Mia… Robin…" Jenna managed, since Garet was obviously not going to be articulate any time soon. "How can… I mean, muscles… metal frame gone… legs all thing…" Perhaps she wasn't in much better straits, but there was no reasonable explanation for the fully-independent child coming their way.

Except, of course, the third man, who carried the source of the light. It wasn't a lantern, as any normal, non-Alchemist might have expected, but a Psynergy device he was quite proud of for creating in just a few hours.

One arm clutching his thickest robes close to his body, Kraden raised the silvery figurine and tapped it once on the back. The mechanical angel's wings opened and it soared off into the night, its path spiralling around the giant Christmas tree to the pinnacle. At the top, it settled into the needles and raised its arms against the wind, letting the crystal in its hands shine as bright as a tiny sun.

Kraden waved to them all, lifting the boy onto his shoulder now that his beacon of hope had taken its proper place. With lungs that were already gaining some new strength, Robin called out to those who were already at the door.

"_Sol bless the master of this house, likewise the mistress too_

_And all the little children that 'round the table go_

_Love and joy come to you_

_And to you our wassail too_

_And Sol bless you and send you a happy new year_

_And Sol send you a happy new year!_"


End file.
